Open Road
by Evaluating Rae
Summary: Re post. Late night musings on the open highway.


Disclaimer: They belong to CC and the hubs at the Fox Network. I'm just compelled to write about them.

Author's Note: I love driving on the highway at night, with the breeze, the lights and the music, and couldn't resist turning my love for the night life into someone else's as well. Enjoy you guys!

**Open Road**

Night air is refreshing to your nostrils and the sensation invigorating as the car hums alive under his direction. The lights of the highway illuminate your cabin in colors of gold and red as sounds of music pour from the radio.

You bask in the late night serenity of the open road, and when you prop your elbow on the passenger door, you're amazed at how many times in the last seven years you've found yourself driving down endless highways such as this, riding in yet another government issue vehicle while being carried away from the

phenomenal case his beautiful mind impossibly solved.

He turns up the speakers to U2 and when you look to him, you feel a smile curve your lips as you let yourself appreciate the view.

His green eyes are lit up in prismatic colors and his short hair dances in the breeze from the crack of his window. You bite your lip at the sight of his dress shirt, once crisp and pristine, now crumpled from travel with its blue collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled to his elbows.

You watch his fingers strum against the steering wheel and you grin in secret, knowing the leather hasn't any idea the heat and tenderness concealed in those fingers.

A blush creeps across your cheeks when you recall the reason you departed late, and as visions of his gloriously tanned skin, his seeking lips against yours and the tangled hotel sheets pervade your memory, you feel that instant and wonderful pang of desire again in the pit of your stomach.

You bite your lip against your reverie and turn in self-embarrassment to watch the lit up pictures of passing billboards.

He's singing along with Queen now and you smile to yourself. He's not a bad singer but you recommend he keep his day job.

Your mouth curves just a little more as you recollect a time, out in the boondocks of podunk nowhere, when a decent music station was lacking and he almost lapsed into a schizophrenic stupor.

And it's never just any music he craves on these rides, but the eclectic sound of electric guitar and heavy drums, that take you back to years past when band insignia T-shirts and platform shoes adorned your wardrobe.

You duck your head at this thought, knowing you'll never admit to him the passion you had for the sounds of Aerosmith and Santana, or how that passion comes alive again on everyone of these highway life nights when you feel careless and free watching him glow in subtle innocence like the green lights of the dashboard.

He thinks you prefer Bach to Bon Jovi and Mozart to Heart, and you plan on keeping it that way, letting him think he's won this game and that you've forfeited these nights to his music taste.

_Tears in Heaven_ floods from the speakers and when auburn hair blows to tickle your cheeks, you brush back the strands.

You look to your partner again and when he balances a sunflower seed between his lips and still tries to sing you laugh out loud at his obvious misfortune.

He spits the shell out the window and when he looks back at you, a smile lights his face. He knows why you laugh and you wonder if he made you do it on purpose.

His twinkling eyes turn back to the road and when you pass under another blaze of gold-orange light, he wordlessly takes your hand. His touch is warm and welcome when he entwines your fingers in his and with his eyes still focused out the windshield, he kisses your knuckles one by one, leaving wonderfully tingling heat humming through your veins.

You know how illogical it is to want to be physically close to him while in this car, but you really don't care. His dark suit jacket lies between the two of you and with your free hand you toss it in the back seat. You lift up the wide armrest and you can feel his questioning eyes scanning back and forth, you and the road.

Compelled with need, want and love, you scoot into the space you've just cleared and as The Eagles try to escape Hotel California, you lean your body into his side and feel his warmth melt into you.

The car's life still vibrates with power and music when he puts his arm around your shoulders and hugging you closer, kisses the top of your head. You smile in delight but there's one more indulgence you crave to be completely satisfied.

Looking to the road, you watch the green of the intersection traffic light turn red and when he slows to a stop you lift your head from under his chin. He looks down at you with the most beautiful smile and returning to him the same you lean in to taste the salt of sunflower seeds on his lips. He gladly claims your kiss and you tug on his shirt, drinking him deeper until the taste of salt turns into the sweet of honey.

This kiss is leaving you pleasantly fulfilled, bringing promises of what's to come tonight, tomorrow and the next day when you'll have his lips and everything attached magnificently warm and naked in your bed.

A car horn sounds behind you and when he pulls from the embrace, his smile is wide and you laugh softly at your momentary escape from reality.

He tucks you back into his chest and when the car moves again, you realize that it's nights and times like this that make up the happy moments of your life, when it seems as though you two are the only people in the world let alone on this stretch of highway.

He kisses your hair again and you close your eyes to absorb his scent and affection.

Yes, you love these nights of gold lights and classic rock, of carelessness and freedom that make your constantly moving life stop and appreciate these calm serenity moments of unadulterated contentment.

On the radio, Patti Smith declares that the night belongs to lovers and when you kiss his collarbone through the cotton of his dress shirt, you smile against his chest knowing she's absolutely right.


End file.
